stopped being married for quite a spell, Milty says. I always s’posed people had
to keep on being married once they’d begun, but Milty says no, there’s ways of
stopping if you can’t agree. Milty says one way is just to start off and leave your
wife, and that’s what Mr. Harrison did. Milty says Mr. Harrison left his wife
because she throwed things at him . . . HARD things . . . and Arty Sloane says it
was because she wouldn’t let him smoke, and Ned Clay says it was ‘cause she
never let up scolding him. I wouldn’t leave MY wife for anything like that. I’d
just put my foot down and say, ‘Mrs. Davy, you’ve just got to do what’ll please
ME ‘cause I’m a MAN.’ THAT’D settle her pretty quick I guess. But Annetta
Clay says SHE left HIM because he wouldn’t scrape his boots at the door and
she doesn’t blame her. I’m going right over to Mr. Harrison’s this minute to see
what she’s like.”
Davy soon returned, somewhat cast down.
“Mrs. Harrison was away . . . she’s gone to Carmody with Mrs. Rachel Lynde
to get new paper for the parlor. And Mr. Harrison said to tell Anne to go over
and see him ‘cause he wants to have a talk with her. And say, the floor is
scrubbed, and Mr. Harrison is shaved, though there wasn’t any preaching
yesterday.”
The Harrison kitchen wore a very unfamiliar look to Anne. The floor was
indeed scrubbed to a wonderful pitch of purity and so was every article of
furniture in the room; the stove was polished until she could see her face in it;
the walls were whitewashed and the window panes sparkled in the sunlight. By
the table sat Mr. Harrison in his working clothes, which on Friday had been
noted for sundry rents and tatters but which were now neatly patched and
brushed. He was sprucely shaved and what little hair he had was carefully
trimmed.
“Sit down, Anne, sit down,” said Mr. Harrison in a tone but two degrees
removed from that which Avonlea people used at funerals. “Emily’s gone over
to Carmody with Rachel Lynde . . . she’s struck up a lifelong friendship already
with Rachel Lynde. Beats all how contrary women are. Well, Anne, my easy
times are over . . . all over. It’s neatness and tidiness for me for the rest of my
natural life, I suppose.”
Mr. Harrison did his best to speak dolefully, but an irrepressible twinkle in his
eye betrayed him.
“Mr. Harrison, you are glad your wife is come back,” cried Anne, shaking her
finger at him. “You needn’t pretend you’re not, because I can see it plainly.”
Mr. Harrison relaxed into a sheepish smile.